In a word, it's irony.
The first when you were thirteen
but now thirteen tries till I become
your prettiest girl in the world.
Sugar coated but in other terms:
'most fuckable girl in the world",
until you move on to the next one.
I watch her and realize
that she is looking at you
the way you'll look at her
thirteen minutes after you forget her.
And I'll stand here and wait however long
and attempt to be the perfect one.
Perfect brown-gold eyes
peeping out of
perfect blue-black hair
with perfect french tipped nails
waiting to run through your hair
while I french you thirteen times
and then turn around and find enough strength to say goodbye.